


Father's Day Gifts

by Ralkana



Series: Just Across the Hall [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Clint Barton Feels, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Family Fluff, Father's Day, M/M, Schmoop, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-22
Updated: 2015-06-22
Packaged: 2018-04-05 13:13:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4181097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ralkana/pseuds/Ralkana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil and Ella's gifts for Clint don't come in a box or a bag.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Father's Day Gifts

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel to my fic, [Package Deal](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2185590), so it probably won't make much sense if you haven't read that one. I was pondering what to write for our boys for Father's Day, and this pretty much hit me instantly.

 

Clint startles awake at the loud pounding on the bedroom door, arms flailing toward weapons that are not where they should be. Panic mounts just long enough for the familiar voice on the other side of the door to register.

"Daddy! Daddy! Wake up!"

Ella sounds excited, not scared, and Clint blinks sleepily as Phil groans awake and butts his head against Clint's shoulder before rolling out of bed. Yanking on his sleep pants, Phil walks toward the door, and Clint admires the view as he gropes for his own pants and pulls them on under the covers.

He feels the usual pang of guilt as Phil unlocks the bedroom door -- he _hates_ locking Ella out, and he knows Phil hates it even more, but it's the only way to be sure she won't barge into the bedroom while they're sound asleep. Clint would never forgive himself if he hurt her because she jolted him awake.

Ella jumps in the doorway as the door swings wide, Avengers nightgown fluttering around her legs, her fine hair in a wispy cloud around her head where it's escaped its nighttime braid.

"Happy Father's Day!" she shouts, arms above her head, fingers splayed wide, and Lucky gives an enthusiastic bark from behind her.

"Thanks, baby," Phil says with a laugh, swinging her into his arms and making growling sounds as he mock nibbles at her neck, and she shrieks with laughter. Lucky trots into the room and jumps onto the bed, collar jingling as he curls up at the footboard, and Clint just watches it all, his heart in his throat.

Even after more than a year, he still has trouble believing sometimes that this is what he gets to wake up to most days, that this is _his_.

Phil sets Ella down and she scrambles onto the bed and into Clint's lap. He wraps his arms around her, cuddling her close as Phil climbs back into bed with them.

"Good morning, Ella Bella," he murmurs, rubbing his cheek against her hair. His stubble catches in the soft strands.

Snuggling into his arms, Ella give him a tight hug and says, "Happy Father's Day!" and Clint blinks, stunned.

Before he can figure out what to say to that, she has moved on, chattering about all the things she wants to do today. Pancakes for breakfast, and reading a new comic book with her Daddy, and the park with Lucky, and a trip to the bookstore...

Clint listens to her talk, his heart growing heavy in his chest. He holds her close, not wanting to let her go. Eventually she trails off, her fingers playing with the edge of the comforter.

"I'll, um, I'll just head back to my place for the day, then," he says, forcing a smile. He's kept his apartment down the hall, even if he's never there much anymore. "You guys can call me when you're done?"

There is a beat of surprised silence, and then Ella says sadly, "You don't want to come with us?"

Clint frowns in confusion. Of course he does, but it's Father's Day, and Ella should definitely spend the day with her dad, right? This is Phil's special day, to spend with his daughter.

"We'd love for you to spend the day with us, Clint," Phil says softly, and when Clint looks at him, there is no uncertainty in his eyes, no sense that he is forcing himself to say it. He _does_ want Clint to join them.

Ella does too. She is pouting at him, her lower lip sticking out, big blue eyes sad, and Clint's heart clenches. He would do anything she asked when she looks at him like that. Thank god she hasn't figured that out yet.

"Okay," he says, before she kills him with that pout. "It sounds like you have a fun day planned for us, squirt."

"Yay!" Ella cheers with a bounce, and Clint quickly shifts her on his lap before she can crush a part of him he's pretty fond of. "I get to spend the day with my Daddy and my Pop! Oooooh, I was supposed to ask and I forgot, but I'm gonna call you Pop from now on, 'kay?"

Clint freezes, breath locking up in his throat. He feels like his heart might've stopped.

"What?" he whispers faintly.

"Claire in my class, she has two daddies, but no mommy, not even a mommy across the ocean, and she calls one Daddy and one Papa, and Sergio calls his dad Papi, and you always call Daddy my pop, but he's not my pop, he's my Daddy, but you could be Pop, if you want."

He can't breathe. He's dangerously close to tears, and he's trembling, fine tremors shuddering through him. He opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. He clears his throat and tries again.

"I... I would -- I would like it very much if you called me Pop, Ella," he says, his voice hoarse and wavering.

Ella beams at him and tightens her arms around him in a fierce hug. He holds her close and presses his lips to her hair, blinking away the wetness in his eyes.

"Ella, baby," Phil says after a moment, "Why don't you go into the kitchen and -- carefully -- get out the flour and the sugar and the blueberries and the chocolate chips, please? But promise me you won't touch the stove."

"Okay, Daddy, I promise," she says, climbing over Clint and jumping off the bed.

"There's my good girl," Phil says with a smile as she skips out of the room, and Lucky uncurls himself and follows her out.

Clint shoves himself off the bed and strides over to the bedroom window, wrapping his arms tightly around himself.

"Clint?" Phil asks in concern.There's a rustle as he stands from the bed, and soft footfalls behind Clint as Phil gets closer. Clint can feel Phil behind him, a long line of heat at Clint's back. Phil stands close but doesn't touch, and Clint loves him even more for that, for not assuming what Clint wants or needs right now.

"If you're uncomfortable with it, I can tell her to stop," Phil says softly, and there's no censure or disappointment in his voice. Only calm reassurance. "There's nothing wrong with her continuing to call you Clint."

"No! I -- "

He just shrugs. How can he explain that he spends every day waiting for this to fall to pieces around him like everything else does, like everything good always has?

These are fears he never voices, afraid that the slightest mention of them will bring them to life.

"I want her to," Clint whispers. "I _really_ want her to."

Phil takes half a step closer, still not touching him, and Clint relaxes just a little just enough to let Phil know that his touch is not unwelcome. Phil closes the last distance between them, sliding his arms around Clint's waist, his chest flush to Clint's back, resting his chin on Clint's shoulder. Clint closes his eyes, savoring every point of contact.

"It was her idea," Phil murmurs. "She asked me on Friday after school -- I think they had a discussion on Father's Day, and all the different kinds of dads there are. I told her she had to ask you, and that today might be a good day for it." He huffs a small, embarrassed laugh. "I suppose it was unwise of me to expect a five year old to express her desires as an actual question."

Clint smiles a little and wonders what Ella might have said in class. About Phil. About him. About them. "I never expected to be a father," he says quietly. "I never expected any of this." He takes a deep, shaky breath. "I just... I just want to be good to her."

Phil smiles and presses a soft kiss to Clint's jaw. Clint shivers at the touch.

"You are," Phil says firmly. "You're so good to both of us, so good _for_ both of us."

Clint ducks his head, embarrassed and disbelieving, and opens his mouth to respond, but Phil tightens his arms around Clint in a warning squeeze and drops a kiss on the nape of Clint's neck, and Clint stills.

"I don't think you understand," Phil says slowly, "How much we've come to need you here, Clint. How much Ella wants you here, how much _I_ want you here, always." He breathes in deeply, slowly lets it out. "I want this, I want _you_ , forever. I don't ever want to let you go. I love what we have here, the family we're building, and I can't wait to see how it grows. Marry me, Clint Barton. Stay here with me, with _us_. Be ours, always."

For the second time this morning, Clint freezes, every muscle locking tight. He stares unseeingly out the window, eyes wide and unblinking.

Time ticks by, and he feels Phil shift, preparing to step back, to loosen his arms from around Clint's waist. To let go. Clint clutches at him, hands gripping Phil's forearms, holding him in place tightly enough to leave marks.

There is no sound in the room, and Phil is still and quiet behind him, the quick beat of his heart thumping against Clint's back the only sign of Phil's nervousness.

Clint waits for it, for the overwhelming push, the itch, the urge to hide, to run from this, from the best thing he's ever been offered, ever been given, the _need_ to get away before it's all destroyed, before _he_ destroys it all.

But it never comes.

It never comes, and all he can feel, in every beat of his heart and breath in his lungs, in every _cell_ of his body, is the inescapable demand to say --

"Yes."

It comes out as a laugh, nearly a sob, and then he can't stop. "Yes," he says again. "Yes," as he turns in Phil's arms to see the relief, the wonder, the _joy_ in Phil's eyes. "Yes, yes, yes."

He can't stop murmuring it, babbling it, and then they are kissing, and he's mumbling it against Phil's lips, and they're both laughing, and it's perfect.

"Daddy!" Ella yells from the kitchen. "Daddy! Clint! Pop! It's breakfast time! I'm _hungry!_ "

Lucky gives a bark of agreement as she calls them, and Clint laughs again, resting his forehead against Phil's to catch his breath. 

Yep. Perfect.

**END**


End file.
